The Untold Tales
by It goes on
Summary: The missing scenes from the Fellowship's meeting in Rivendell to their arrival at the Mines of Moria. They had to bond somehow, right?
1. A Morning in Rivendell

**November 25, 3018: Rivendell **

**A/N: Obligatory disclaimer: I own none of these characters or places, though I wish that I was brilliant enough to have thought of them. They all belong to the marvelous J.R.R. Tolkien. **

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_Bilbo failed to describe the beauty of Rivendell in his tales, _thought Frodo Baggins as he stood on a stone balcony overlooking the valley of Imladris. The air around him and the stone beneath his hands as he gripped the railing were cold, yet he felt no obligation to stray from his post outside to grab a cloak from his room for fear of missing the late autumn sunrise. Frodo had hoped that he would be able to witness the coming of dawn in solitude, but his attempts to sneak out of his room unnoticed had failed when he had stepped on a creaky floorboard and awakened Sam. The younger hobbit had been sleeping in Frodo's room for the past four days that the two had been in Rivendell, and refused to leave his master's side unless ordered to by Gandalf or Elrond. This particular morning was no exception. As soon as he heard his master waking, Sam had leapt from his makeshift watch-post in the chair by Frodo's bed and plodded quietly after his master to the balcony outside. There he stood, only a few feet away from Frodo eagerly examining some small blue flowers that had been planted in a large wooden box that hung off the edge of the railing that Frodo was leaning on.

"Sure is something, isn't it Mister Frodo?" Sam said as he looked out over the valley which was just beginning to come into view as the first pale rays of sun began spreading from the east. The golden light pierced the low fog that hung over the trees below them; sending mist fleeing to the deeper woods, where no light could penetrate the foliage.

"Yes, Sam. It is," Frodo replied, rubbing the wound near his shoulder in a vain attempt to make the dull ache go away. The sorcery of the Morgul blade had kept him asleep for four days, and he had only awoken yesterday to find that the pain had not altogether gone away. "I would have liked to see more sunrises like this back in the Shire," he chuckled, turning towards Sam who seemed to be more interested in the flowers by the balcony.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing plenty more of these sunrises while we're in Rivendell, Mister Frodo," Sam said, moving to examine another flower box containing pink and yellow buds, "Plenty more. That is, if you're willing to get up early to see them, which you shouldn't. Gandalf and Elrond said you need your rest, and that you should be sleeping more, even though you just woke up yesterday."

"I know, Sam," Frodo sighed, listening intently to the birds in the trees below him. He regretted having been asleep for so long; he would have liked to have spent more time with Bilbo than the hour he had with him yesterday evening. Frodo knew that there would probably be more time to talk to his uncle before he left, but he wasn't exactly certain _when_ he would be leaving and wanted to converse with Bilbo thoroughly before he returned home.

A peaceful quiet came over the two hobbits as the sun continued to rise. Sam hated the silence and, eager to fill the awkward gap, asked Frodo if he knew what was going to happen today.

"Now that you're awake and all, Mister Frodo," he proclaimed hastily, "do you think we'll be returning home soon? I'm eager to be getting back, if it's all the same to you. The Gaffer's probably pretty concerned by now, and I can't imagine what the bushes at Bag End must look like without someone to look after them…"

Despite himself, Frodo laughed at his friend's concern for the shrubbery.

"Are you sure it's the bushes you really want to be getting back to, Sam?"

"Yes, Mister Frodo. Why do you ask?" Frodo could have sworn the flustered hobbit was blushing.

"You mean you don't want to get back to seeing Rosie Cotton at the Green Dragon?" Frodo asked, knowing how much the gardener admired the fair faced hobbit back home.

"No!" Sam yelped quickly, "I mean yes! I don't want to be insulting Miss Rosie by saying no! But I don't want to be saying anything else!" He continued, wringing his hands together the way he did when he was nervous.

"It's okay, Sam. Nobody cares if you like Rosie Cotton or not." Frodo said, laying a hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder and letting out a light chuckle.

The younger hobbit let out a heaving sigh, as if liking Rosie Cotton was one of the most dramatic things he had ever experienced. It may well have been, but Frodo hoped for Sam's sake that that wasn't the case. How could he deal with the world beyond the Shire if he thought liking a girl was the most horrifying thing he had ever experienced?

"Thank you, Mister Frodo," Sam said, returning his attention to the flowers while Frodo turned his head away to watch the sunrise some more.

By now the sun had risen considerably, illuminating the golden leaves of the beeches, elms and oaks in valley below and turning the forest into a sea of gold, which rolled slightly in the cool autumn breeze. The light also reflected off the water pouring down the sides of the valley and spilling into the fords, creating small rainbows that danced in front of the rocky walls. Frodo was so focused in looking out over the valley that he hardly heard Gandalf approaching until the wizard was only feet away from the hobbits.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, rushing to hug his old friend.

"My dear Frodo," Gandalf said, returning the hug, "whatever are you doing up when you should be resting?" The wizard sent a pointed look towards Sam as if to say, _why did you allow him to wake after I told you countless times that he needs his rest? _

"He wanted to see the sunrise, Mister Gandalf. I know I shouldn't have let him out of his room, but he tried to sneak off while I was sleeping, see, so I followed him out here." At the hobbit's flustered reply, the wizard softened his gaze and turned his attention back to Frodo who stood nodding his agreement in front of him.

"Well I suppose I can't deny you fresh air, Frodo," Gandalf said, peering over the treetops to gaze at the rising sun.

"Mister Gandalf, begging your pardon, but do you know what's to be done today?" Sam's voice said from behind him.

"I know what it is what I must do today, and what Frodo must do today, but what's to be done today is beyond me."

"What is it that I must do today, Gandalf?" Frodo asked the old wizard.

"Ah, yes. You and Bilbo have both been invited to a council with Lord Elrond. I will also be there, as will the man who accompanied you to Rivendell, as I've been told." Gandalf said whilst pulling out his pipe and a small pouch of pipe weed.

"Strider will be there? I never thought of good ol' Strider as the diplomatic sort," Sam said, watching as Gandalf began shoving pipe weed into the end of his pipe.

"What will happen at the council, Gandalf?" Frodo asked in speculation as the wizard proceeded to blow smoke rings towards the rising sun.

"That remains to be seen, my dear Frodo," Gandalf said, after blowing a small blue smoke ring through a larger green one. "But right now, I am in need of a good breakfast, and I suggest that the two of you accompany me now, before your friends arrive to eat all the food." Gandalf stood, leading the two hobbits across the balcony towards the Homely House.

"Merry and Pippin would save us some though, don't you think?" Sam asked from behind Gandalf.

"I doubt that their habits would have changed for the better overnight, Master Samwise," Gandalf said.

With a moan, Sam raced in front of Gandalf, eager to beat his trouble making friends to breakfast.

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**A/N: Okay, chapter one yay. I tried to stick as close to the timeline of the book as possible, but if I royally messed up, please tell me about it so that I do not make the same mistake again. :)**

**First fan-fic, how exciting. :|**


	2. Hobbits Are Special

**November 25, 3018**

Aragorn arrived at breakfast precisely five minutes after the hobbits. A rather large mistake on his part, but he had overslept; taking comfort in an actual bed while he could.

If it hadn't been for the smell of cooking food rising from the kitchen, Aragorn might have continued lying in bed until someone was forced to rouse him for the council later. He hadn't realized his hunger and his yearning for a decent meal until he had pulled himself from bed and haphazardly thrown on his clothes. By then the scent was overpowering and Aragorn had practically ran from his room in order to satisfy his complaining stomach. Halfway to the kitchen he remembered the hobbits that had also been staying in the Last Homely House and increased his pace. When he arrived, he was surprised to see that there was still food left untouched by the hobbits.

_They're not up to their usual standards this morning,_ Aragorn thought as he grabbed a roll, an apple and some cooked meat from the pile of food left unclaimed. The hobbits in question were sitting all together with Gandalf at the end of one of the long tables set up for the visitors who had arrived for the council today. They seemed engrossed in their conversation about pipe weed, but they somehow managed to notice Aragorn as he leaned against the far wall, biting into his apple.

"Strider! Strider, over here!" Pippin called from his seat next to Merry. The young hobbit acted as though they were in a crowded pub, not an empty kitchen. Aragorn nodded and slowly began making his way towards the hobbits and the other side of the room.

"Strider, you know Gandalf, right? You said you did, but I didn't believe you, not entirely anyway." Pippin began babbling as soon as Aragorn had sat himself down in a chair next to Frodo, across from Merry.

"Yes, Gandalf and I have known each other for many, many years, Master Peregrin." Aragorn said, taking another bite into his apple and staring at the curly haired Halfling cattycorner to him.

"How many?" Pippin asked with barely controlled enthusiasm as he bounced up and down in his seat, causing his mop of light brown hair to fly wildly around his face.

Aragorn exchanged a quick glance with Gandalf who was seemingly uninterested in the conversation and was blowing smoke rings towards the ceiling. Upon catching the ranger's eye, the lines around the wizard's eyes deepened and a small smile played across his lips.

"Almost eighty-seven years, Master Peregrin." Aragorn said, spreading some butter onto the roll he had grabbed with the knife he kept in his belt. For a moment there was silence, which worried Aragorn because the hobbits were never entirely silent. Looking up he found that all four of the halflings were gaping at him with open mouths and wide eyes.

"Eighty-seven?" Merry said after a sufficient amount of time had passed.

"Yes."

"Eighty-seven?" Sam asked again.

"Yes."

There was a long pause while the hobbits communicated with each other using their bulging eyeballs.

"Eighty-seven?" Pippin said at last.

"YES. EIGHTY-SEVEN." Aragorn said slowly, pronouncing each vowel carefully.

"Eigh-"

"Yes, Master Peregrin, Strider is eighty-seven years old, as I believe we have established." Gandalf said from the head of the table, finally engaging in the conversation.

"But…but…how?" Pippin said, looking from Gandalf to Aragorn and back again.

"Strider is a descendent of the people of Númenor, who were gifted with long life by the Valar." Gandalf told the hobbits, careful not to make any mention of Aragorn's royal lineage.

"Are a lot of men descended from the Númenoreans, Gandalf?" Frodo asked, finally joining in the conversation from his seat next to Aragorn where he had previously been eating quietly.

"Yes, I believe so," Gandalf said, wiping off the end of his pipe on his long, white beard, "in fact, I believe you are about to meet another one," the wizard nodded towards a tall and broad shouldered man standing near the entrance uncomfortably.

"Who's that, Mister Gandalf?" Sam asked, staring openly at the large warrior, "we haven't seen him around here before yet, have we, Sir?"

"No, Master Samwise, you have not seen him before. His name is Boromir; a fine warrior of Gondor and a Númenorean by blood, though he is less Númenorean than some," Gandalf spoke to Sam, but looked directly at Aragorn, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of his own ancestry, "he arrived just last night from Gondor."

"Gondor? That's awfully far," Pippin said, eyeing Boromir as he grabbed whatever he could scavenge from the almost nonexistent food pile.

"Yes, Peregrin Took, it is rather far, but I'm sure he would be happy to share with you about it, if you could remain quiet long enough for him to tell you," the wizard said as he motioned to Boromir to come join them.

The warrior nodded then began slowly making his way towards them, and Aragorn took the opportunity to look the man over. Boromir was taller than him, with much broader shoulders and had lighter hair; he carried a sword in his belt and across his chest hung a large horn with silver plating. The man came to a halt just at the head of the table, greeting them all with a gracious bow.

"Mithrandir," Boromir said, addressing the wizard first, "it has been long since you last visited us in Gondor," he gestured to the other end of the room where several of his guards were attempting to find food and failing.

"Ah, yes. I came to Gondor less than a year ago, though my business was not with you, or your family. My business of late has been mostly concerning these fine folk," Gandalf said, nodding his head towards the hobbits.

"My apologies," Boromir said, turning to the hobbits, "I forgot to introduce myself. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor." He bowed again, staring in wonder at the hobbits. Living his entire life in Minas Tirith, and rarely venturing far from the city unless for battle had given Boromir little experience with other races. Halflings were the stuff of legend and almost completely unknown to him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Boromir," Sam said, rising from his seat and bowing low to the ground, "if you please, that's Meriadoc Brandybuck, who we all call Merry, that's Peregrin Took, who you can call Pippin, and this is Frodo Baggins," Sam gestured wildly to the other hobbits, "and I'm Sam."

"A pleasure," Boromir sat down across from Aragorn, next to Merry, before turning his attention to him, "and you are?"

"Strider," he said, extending his hand to the man across the table.

"Boromir," the man responded. They shook.

Slowly, more and more people began to flock into the room. Most of them were elves, but some were men, and Aragorn thought he saw a few dwarves running about as well. All who entered were baffled, however, to discover the slim pickings of food that remained for them and most left to find food elsewhere.

"I was told that the elves created grand feasts for every meal, though now I see that it isn't so, for there is hardly any food at all," Boromir observed with clear speculation in his eyes.

Aragorn laughed. "The elves do enjoy feasting, but on this particular day they forgot to account for the hobbits that would be attending said feast," Aragorn glanced at the four hobbits that were still biting into rolls and apples.

"You mean to tell me that these four halflings ate almost an entire elvish feast?" Boromir stared said with obvious sarcastic disbelief as he raised an eyebrow at Gandalf.

"Hobbit's are special in that way," Pippin said while reaching for another plate of food and devouring most of it in under a minute.

"Indeed they are, Master Peregrin. Indeed they are," Aragorn said, leaning back in his chair and enjoying the startled expression that had settled on Boromir's face as the warrior pulled his food closer to his body and away from the reach of the hobbits.

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**A/N: The character's still don't belong to me, but I am enjoying writing about them. **

**Oh, hobbits, your food consumption astounds me...**


	3. Hobbit Induced Hunger

**A/N: Still don't own the characters. **

**Boromir experiences hobbit induced hunger...**

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Boromir's stomach growled in protest as he took the last bite of his scrawny breakfast rations. He glared at it, as if that would cause the growing hunger pains to subside out of fear for the intensity in his eyes. Unfortunately, his stomach was acting rather fearless on this particular day and continued to protest despite Boromir's persistent glares. It wasn't as though it were _his_ fault that the halflings had eaten most of the food before he arrived…it was only his fault for showing up later then they had.

Next to him one of the halflings was asking Gandalf and the man across the table _(Strider, he said his name was…)_ if they would accompany the rest of the hobbits on a tour of Rivendell. Apparently, the twin sons of Elrond had grown quite fond of the little hobbits and had taken it upon themselves to entertain their guests while they remained in Imladris. Yesterday, the twins had supposedly taken the halflings Merry and Pippin to the library and showed them maps and records of Middle Earth. The trip had proven quite boring for the cousins, so the twins had agreed to make today more interesting for them and take the smaller folk on a venture around Rivendell.

What the twins saw in the young hobbits, Boromir had no idea; for they were a queer folk and their ability to consume vast amounts of food still astonished him.

_Perhaps they find their merrymaking amusing? _Boromir thought. From what he had learned from his tutors as a child, elves were fond of mischief and clever jests. Perhaps the twin sons of Elrond had seen the same fondness for merriment in the two hobbits and decided to befriend them. _Eru knows they have a light of mischief in their eyes,_ Boromir thought again, glancing at the halfling next to him as he discreetly tried to drop morsels of food down the back of his cousin's shirt.

The idea of food being used for such folly purposes was beginning to make Boromir sour, so he turned his attention instead to the man across the table from him while attempting to ignore the protests from growling of his stomach. _Strider, he said his name was._ Boromir wondered what his real name was, and why he'd bother concealing it. _Maybe he's an outlaw, _he thought before quickly pushing the thought aside. _No, he dresses like one of those Rangers from the North I've seen wandering around every once in a while back in Gondor. _Though the Rangers rarely traveled so far south as Gondor, Boromir could remember seeing a few walking around the city in their long cloaks and donning the six-pointed star in more recent years.

_Rangers. What was the other name for them? Ah, yes. Dúnedain. Men of the West, descendants of Númenor, _Boromir recalled as Strider responded to the disappointed Merry and Pippin that he would not be able to join them on their tour of Rivendell.

"I have other things to do today, Master Merry," Strider said, casting the halfling a sympathetic look, "and besides, I have already seen all there is to see in this fair place."

"What do you mean, Strider? Have you been here before?" Another hobbit asked from across the table. Boromir was pretty sure he had introduced himself as Sam.

"I grew up in Rivendell, Sam, before I became a Ranger," Strider laughed, "and I need not see more of it."

The hobbits marveled at this for some time, wondering how Strider came to live in the land of the elves, but the man merely disregarded their questions saying that he had lived in Rivendell as a child, and nothing more.

_A curious man indeed,_ Boromir thought as he looked longingly at the food that Pippin was now shaking out of the back of his shirt, _and even more curious is his ability to interact so easily with these little folk from the Shire. _

A cough from the head of the table suddenly broke Boromir's focus on the crumbs flying from Pippin's cloak, and he looked up to see Mithrandir staring at him expectantly.

"Yes?" He said, noticing also that the halflings and the man were staring at him as well.

"I said, Master Boromir, what brings thee to Rivendell? No doubt you are here for the council of Elrond, but what else sends you this way?" The wizard asked, raising his bushy eyebrows at the warrior.

"My father sent me," Boromir responded, "to try and decipher a dream that came to me and my brother also." He looked down at the horn at his side, remembering his father's orders when he had learned of his sons' dreams. _Do not fail me…we must keep Gondor out of the hands of the enemy! _Denethor had said. Boromir tried to ignore the thought.

"I see. And how fares Faramir?" Gandalf asked.

"He fares well. Mostly he is leading missions to Osgiliath and Ithilien, to try and keep the defenses against the enemy as strong as possible."

"Very good. Very good indeed," Gandalf said, leaning back in his chair and looking at the ceiling. He remained that way for a very long time, until a horn blast in the distance claimed his attention along with everyone else at the table.

"The council of Elrond has been summoned," Strider said, beginning to rise from his seat at the table, lending a hand to the hobbit next to him who seemed to also be attending the council, though Boromir wasn't sure what business he could have there. Gandalf also rose, staring into the distance towards where the horn had come from. Boromir lifted himself from his seat slowly, trying to ignore the hobbits next to him, who were still eating, and followed the Ranger and wizard to the council.

And he was still hungry.

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**A/N: Concerning Boromir: I know the hobbits weren't supposed to meet him until the Council, but I liked the idea of them meeting him at breakfast (the first one, not second breakfast) and him being baffled by their eating habbits. Also, Merry and Pippin's connection to the twins is entirely fantasized, but they _had_ been in Rivendell for a few days and I'd like to think that they made some friends while there. :)**


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